I have had experiences at work that made me feel the need to conceal my autism. In one instance, I had to take Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA) leave due to my mental health struggles, specifically PTSD and suicidal thoughts. During this tough time, I confided in my close friend Robert, who was a colleague and the only other person of color in senior management. We supported each other in an environment that was often competitive and, at times, openly discriminatory.

When I reached out to Robert, expressing my distress, he advised me to seek immediate medical attention, which I did. My supervisor arranged for her daughter to take me to the hospital, where I was placed on a voluntary emergency hold for treatment. After my leave, I returned to find my position eliminated.

Despite legal protections against firing someone due to a disability, organizations can still eliminate roles under the guise of budget cuts. I received a severance package and was thankful for the mental health services I accessed during my leave. This experience ultimately proved transformative for me, and I chose to focus on gratitude rather than bitterness. I quickly found new employment and maintained connections with friends from my previous job.

However, I later learned that my former boss’s daughter had spread rumors about my mental health issues, framing them as the reason for my departure. Discrimination against individuals with disabilities persists, and I became aware of the stigma that still exists in the workplace. This is why I often feel compelled to mask my autism, even though it inevitably influences my interactions with others.

People often express disbelief when I disclose my autism, saying things like, “You don’t seem autistic.” Such comments diminish my lived experiences and the efforts I put into conforming to societal expectations of "normality." I have difficulty with eye contact, which I force myself to maintain to make others comfortable, even as it causes me discomfort.

In one instance, I had a panic attack at work, which I shared with a coworker. While I find it easier to discuss my mental health challenges, revealing my autism feels more daunting. After confiding in her, she remarked that she sensed something was off but couldn't place it, attributing it to anxiety rather than autism.

It is essential to recognize that autism exists on a spectrum, just like intellectual capacity. My two children are also on the spectrum, and while I was once labeled "gifted," I now often feel inadequate compared to my peers. My son, who has a strong vocabulary and reads fluently, has faced misconceptions about his autism, as has my daughter, who has demonstrated superior visual-spatial intelligence.

Despite not being intellectually disabled, many associate autism with lower cognitive abilities. I often find myself defending my disability and feel pain in needing to justify my existence. In a previous job, a coworker expressed skepticism about a patient’s request for autism support, claiming the patient didn't "look autistic." I wanted to correct her but felt unable to speak up.

I later requested training for the team to better understand gender identities and the spectrum of autism, which I learned about during the session. Even medical professionals sometimes show ignorance about autism, highlighting the need for better education.

My son also masks his autism, and I worry about his struggles in social situations. Despite being bright, he has been dismissed by professionals who fail to recognize his condition based on superficial observations. Recently, a psychiatrist told him she didn’t believe he was autistic, which he took as a compliment. I terminated her services, believing a thorough evaluation was necessary rather than hasty conclusions.

I've started being more open about my autism after taking a mental health peer support course, where we were encouraged to share our identities. Although my peers didn’t respond much, one insisted that I didn’t look autistic, which perpetuates the stereotype that intelligence correlates with appearance.

Sometimes, I contemplate being transparent about my autism at work to help others understand my quirks and challenges. I sense that my director perceives me as rude due to my difficulty grasping subtle social cues, which I struggle to mimic. My hesitation stems from the fear that being open about my disability could alter how colleagues view my professional capabilities.

I worry about being seen as broken if I reveal my autism, jeopardizing the trust I’ve built. My performance at work is a point of pride, and I fear that disclosing my condition might overshadow my abilities and lead to biases against me.

Advocating for autistic individuals requires courage and transparency, but I hesitate. I’ve often felt that people are inherently unkind due to past experiences of being taken advantage of or ridiculed. However, narrowing my circle has led me to discover genuine friendships.

Perhaps I should simply acknowledge my autism. Maybe others around me share similar experiences of masking. My life is full, with my son starting early college soon, my internship beginning shortly after, and balancing my daughter’s homeschooling. I also strive to meet my husband’s emotional needs, which will require sacrifices on both sides.

Ultimately, I may choose to prioritize the support of my family rather than disclose my autism at work. Advocating for autistic individuals can manifest in nurturing my children’s success. In the future, I may reveal to my colleagues that they’ve worked alongside an autistic person without ever knowing it.